


Softness

by Muffinworry



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffinworry/pseuds/Muffinworry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paige hates being cold</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softness

**Author's Note:**

> Another Ice Hell Storytime entry.

Paige examines herself in the mirror as she combs her hair. Wet, it hangs in a dripping rainbow past her waist.

“Sweetheart?”

The door handle rattles. Paige scowls as she glances past her perfect reflection to the chair she’s jammed under the door handle. She’s drowned twice in the bathtub since she started living in this house, and she’s not about to let that oh-so-predictable bastard try for a third. She’ll happily spend hours bathing and preening – as long as it’s not his turn in the game.

“Really, darling, there’s no need to hide. Anyone might think you were nervous.”

Paige grits her teeth at the smugness, but he’s going to break the door down in a moment. He’s always especially annoyed after she manages to kill him with his own sword.

She looks around hurriedly, then removes the window screen as quietly as she can.

***

The door hinges dissolve into fine grey dust under Tony’s touch. He wrenches the door aside impatiently and steps into the bathroom, sword drawn. He spots the open window, and narrows his eyes.

Sometimes, living with all her noise and violence and exuberance, he forgets just how petite Paige is. It would be a narrow fit, even for her, but she could - just – squeeze through the window and pull herself up to the roof. From there, it’s easy enough to slide down the drainpipe on the far side of the house and escape.

Tony crosses the room and cranes his head out the window.

And Paige rises up from behind the shower curtain and hauls him back by the hair. Tony snarls in anger, but he’s off balance. She slams him hard against the mirror, and glass shatters.

Tony staggers and swings his sword in a backhanded stroke, but the bathroom is too small to move freely. He curses and wipes the blood from his eyes, and swings again. Paige throws herself sideways, and the blade clips a lock of pale violet hair. She ducks up and under his arm, fingers hooked into claws, but before she can reach his eyes, he moves.

Tony’s mouth twists in a snarl, and he pivots and elbows her hard in the jaw. Paige slips backwards on the wet tile floor, and Tony shoves her to the ground. She scrabbles for the knife in her pocket, but her skirts are tangled around her. His boot comes up, and she hears a sickening crack as he stamps on her wrist.

Nausea rushes over Paige in a wave, but she clenches her jaw and forces herself to breathe, to roll over and lift herself up with her other hand. Gloved hands wrap around her throat, and she feels her head forced back as she chokes. The room is spinning. Bright spots are flashing in her vision. She claws and struggles, and as she flails, her frantic fingers close on a large shard of broken glass. As Tony bends down to tighten his grip on her throat, she stabs upwards.

A furious yell, and the pressure on her neck loosens. Paige gasps and sucks air desperately through a bruised throat.

Tony is leaning back, clutching at his shoulder, where the sliver of bloodstained glass is embedded. Blood is running down his arm in fine traceries, snaking out from under his cuff and dripping from his fingers.

Tony wrenches the glass out of his shoulder, and kneels over her. Paige feels it warm and sharp at her throat. He pierces the skin, drags the glass slowly across her neck.

She pulls him close for a kiss.

The room goes dark.

***

She hates him. She knows this; it’s become the firmament of her life these last few months.

There’s a large rock at the bottom of the garden, out of sight from the house. Paige perches on it, winding a light pink curl around her finger and considering her options. She’d woken up shivering in the woods, soaked with dew, and it’s going to take all morning to get the cold out of her bones. The stone is warm from the sunshine, and she finds herself leaning back and fanning her hair out to dry.

She listens to the bees buzzing in their soft background drone.

She closes her eyes for a second.

There’s a footstep next to her, and a rustle. Velvety dark fabric wraps around her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth.

Paige deliberately keeps her eyes closed as he sits down beside her.

“You look comfortable,” he says.

“I was,” she says, without much venom. She was shaking with cold when she woke up. It seemed to take ages before her blood began to flow properly again. She’s not going to start fighting and waste an opportunity to bask in the sun. She hates being cold, always has. Hates the long nights when he’s not there and the mornings when she wakes alone, though she wouldn’t ever tell him.

She hates him, she really does.

The fact that he’s keeping her warm is irrelevant.

His hand brushes hers, and Paige tenses, instantly back to full alert. She cracks open an eyelid just enough to see him, without making it obvious. He’s leaning back on his elbows, eyes closed. His sword is nowhere in sight. That doesn’t mean much, but he’s not stupid enough to start the next round out of turn for no reason.

She settles back, refusing to be the first to leave. The moment stretches into a comfortable silence, and Paige feels the sun grow hot against the black coat.

Tony glances at her sidelong. She waits for a sarcastic comment, too relaxed to move.

What he does, though, is raise her arm and kiss the soft skin on the inside of her wrist.

“Feeling warmer?” he asks.

Paige shivers.


End file.
